Mad Season
by theslytherinrose
Summary: Draco Malfoy has decided to return to Hogwarts to finish his education after the war. To make things easier on her son and to express her gratitude for the majority of her family remaining intact, Narcissa Malfoy decides to extend an olive branch to the famous Harry Potter. [AU in which Draco and the Golden Trio return to school post-war.]
1. A Proposal for Peace

**A/N: I saw a post on tumblr about Harry deciding to name his daughter after Narcissa because she saved his life/everyone else's, and I thought that would make a really neat AU. otterlymagic said I should write a fic in which Narcissa and Harry get to know one another after the war, so I've started this. It's an AU in which Draco and the trio all decide to go back to Hogwarts to finish their education, and Narcissa thinks that it would be easier on Draco to deal with the rest of the students if Harry and co. are on his side. Comments are always welcomed. [I'm not sure how long this will end up being, but it'll be several chapters at the least.] The title is from the song by Matchbox Twenty, which I don't own.  
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* * *

Chapter One

A Proposal for Peace

Narcissa stood beside the full-length window in the bedroom she shared with her husband, watching the flowers in the gardens below as they swayed in the breeze. The grounds hadn't sustained nearly as much damage as had Malfoy Manor's interior during the terrifying, tortuous period in which the Dark Lord had so often haunted it with his presence, and most of what had been broken had since been repaired. Of the Malfoys' possessions, at least. Emotional damage was, Narcissa knew well, much more difficult to undo.

It seemed odd to her that the flowers that were now reaching toward the sky from their bushes were the same ones that had been in the gardens since before she'd lost her eldest sister. Why did these fragile blooms continue to grow while Bellatrix, the fiercest member of the Black family and one of the most resilient people Narcissa had ever known, had now been buried?

"Are you all right?"

Narcissa felt a light touch at her waist, and she relaxed slightly, allowing herself to be drawn backward into her husband's arms. She rested her hands on his at her waist and nodded.

"I will be." She knew he would've seen through a simple ' _Yes_ ,' as he knew her far too well not to see her grief, but these words were true, or at least she hoped they were. She wasn't all right now, and she knew she would never stop missing her sister, but perhaps she would begin to hurt less, with time.

Lucius laid a kiss on her cheek, and Narcissa turned her head to give him a small smile. He was, as her sister had been, incredibly resilient. The dark circles beneath his grey eyes had faded considerably, and over the last few weeks, he had begun to seem more and more like himself, since the threats of death and returning to the hell of Azkaban no longer lingered over him.

Narcissa thanked the gods each night and several times throughout her day that both Lucius and their son were safe. Safe and _home_ , together. The amount of loss the Wizarding World had sustained as the Dark Lord's army had stormed Hogwarts had been utterly devastating, and Narcissa counted her blessings that while so many other families had been torn to shreds, she had only lost one of the people she loved that night.

"Has Draco spoken with you?"

Lucius nodded. "What do you think of the idea?"

Narcissa shrugged, turning in her husband's arms and wrapping her own around him as she rested her head against his chest. "I suppose it makes sense, if he wants to complete his education. I can't imagine he focused much on his studies, last year, with everything else that was happening." She knew that things had been considerably easier for Draco during the Death Eater occupation of the school than they had been for students from families of lower standing. She doubted many of the Death Eaters had been particularly kind to him, considering how far the Malfoys had fallen in the Dark Lord's eyes by that point, but she was grateful that Draco had at least been able to attend, unlike the students with less-than-pure blood who had been forced into hiding instead.

"Do you really think that's why he wants to go back?"

Narcissa shook her head. "No. I think he wants to make a difference—to make up for some of what he had to do and make peace with it all. Bless him."

"I'd imagine you're right," said Lucius, his arms tightening around his wife as he ran his fingers through her long, blond hair. "I'm rather proud of how he's handling things."

"Make sure you tell him so." Narcissa lifted herself up on her toes to kiss her husband's cheek. "I can't imagine how difficult it must be for him to consider putting himself through this mess. Think of what the other students will say." Her face fell, her thoughts erupting with scenarios in which Draco suffered the endless berating of his peers for his involvement in the war that had cost so many of them friends and relatives. She'd always hoped her son would be strong, but subjecting himself to this torment of his own will demonstrated a level of strength she couldn't have brought herself to ask of him, and she, like Lucius, was incredibly proud of the boy.

"He can handle it," said Lucius. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Narcissa nodded, lifting her head to meet her husband's gaze. "I was trying to think of ways to make it easier on him, and…" She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, almost certain that the idea sounded better in her head than it would aloud. "Well, I read in the _Prophet_ that Potter and his friends are going back, too. What if we were to reach out to them?"

Lucius's brows shot upward, his eyes widening. "What do you mean?"

"What if… we spent a bit of time with Potter and tried to smooth things over between him and Draco?" Narcissa rushed on, determined to at least complete her argument before Lucius could point out how ludicrous it was. "I know they aren't likely to become friends, Lucius, but wouldn't you feel better if Draco went back to Hogwarts with Potter being something less than hateful toward him? And honestly, we do… sort of owe the boy." Her voice dropped with the last words. She loathed admitting it and she knew the resentment Lucius felt toward the idea was even stronger than her own, but it was true nonetheless. "If he hadn't spoken for us with the Ministry—"

"I know." Lucius sighed heavily. "I'd be…" He shook his head, and Narcissa rested her hand on his cheek.

"But you're not," she said. "You're here."

She couldn't count the number of nights he'd awoken from nightmares of Azkaban, terrified and trembling, and if nothing else, she wanted to thank Potter for ensuring that her husband would not have to return to the place that had caused him so much pain and that neither she nor her son would have to experience the prison from within.

Lucius nodded. "If it's what you want, we can try. I can't guarantee that the boy will be receptive."

Narcissa smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. "Thank you. Trying is all we can do."

"How do you propose we do so?"

"We'll send him an owl."

Lucius laughed softly. "You've got this whole thing planned already, don't you?"

Narcissa shrugged. "I didn't want to do anything until I'd mentioned it to you. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Just try not to leave me alone with Potter. I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to say."

"I promise."

Narcissa found herself breathing the slightest bit more easily, now that Lucius had agreed to the idea. Owling Potter would give her an outlet for some of the gratitude that needed to work its way out of her heart, and doing so would almost certainly benefit Draco. She could only hope that her efforts would be well-received.


	2. The Invitation

Chapter Two

The Invitation

Harry stared at the letter in his hand, half-expecting it to spontaneously combust or something of the like. Surely this had to be some sort of joke.

As the dust had started to settle after the war, Harry had weighed his options as to what course of action he should follow. He'd given strong consideration to foregoing the remainder of his education and devoting his services to helping the Ministry round up the threats that still remained, but, like Ron, he had eventually caved under the strenuous pressure applied by Hermione.

" _You've done more than enough, Harry,_ " she'd said. " _And that's not to say you can't still help them. But if you don't go back to school now—I know you—you never will. Please don't throw this chance away._ "

Instead of returning alone to Grimmuald Place, Harry had given in to the insistences of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he stay on at the Burrow until he and the others returned for another year at Hogwarts. After everything they'd been through and the horrors they'd seen, Harry couldn't help feeling that the whole idea of resigning himself to another round of books and teachers and assignments positively screamed of anticlimax.

It was as he sat in Ron's room at the Burrow that he'd heard the scratching of a bird outside the window, which he'd opened to allow entry to a white, winged thing that looked more like a falcon than any sort of owl, if he wasn't mistaken. He'd thought instantly that the bird's arrival must've been an error in itself, and this thought had only solidified in his mind when he'd taken the letter that the bird offered and recognized its seal to belong to none other than the Malfoy family.

"Oh, Harry, would you just open it, already?" asked Hermione, reaching forward across where she sat with him and Ron on the floor to smack Harry's arm. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" Harry challenged.

"What do you think it is, an invitation for tea?" asked Ron, glancing from Harry to Hermione to the letter and back again. "Malfoy's probably wanting to gloat about something or other, now that he can't get in trouble for it."

Hermione laughed shortly. "That's what you think? After Harry stood up for his family with the Ministry?"

Ron shrugged. "Hence _why_ he can't get in trouble for it."

Harry sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his dark hair and steeling himself for whatever was to come. More to silence his friends' bickering than because he felt prepared to do so, he opened the letter, ignoring as he did so the feeling that the bird that had borne it was watching him from the desk.

* * *

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _My husband and I would like to offer you our thanks for your kind words on our behalf. I cannot accurately describe how grateful I am to have my family home and together, and for that, I owe you a great debt. I know it does not begin to repay what you've done for us, but we would like to invite you—and your friends, should they wish to attend—to supper at our home in Wiltshire on Saturday evening. If you are otherwise engaged, I understand, but know that I wish to thank you in person at some point in the future. Please send Calypso with your reply._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_

* * *

"You weren't terribly far off, Ron," Harry muttered, staring at the elegant handwriting on the parchment before him.

"See?" Ron looked to Hermione. "Told you Malfoy would—"

"No, no, not that," Harry said quickly, shaking his head. "It's not from Draco."

Ron frowned. "Who's it bloody from, then?"

"His mother. I meant you weren't that off with it being an invitation to tea."

"What?" Ron's eyes widened, and he snatched the letter from Harry's hand. "Let me see that."

Hermione leaned in close to inspect the parchment over Ron's shoulder, and as he watched their eyes move over the letter, Harry saw a look of triumph settle onto Hermione's features as Ron looked only progressively more horrified.

"I think this is wonderful progress, Harry," Hermione said when she'd finished reading.

Ron snorted. "Care to explain how?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Narcissa clearly appreciates what you did, and for people like the Malfoys to extend the invitation to your _friends_ as well as yourself, I'd say that means they've made some severe reconsiderations."

"Or it's a trap," mumbled Ron. Hermione frowned.

"So what do you think I should do?" asked Harry, hoping to cut off further argument. He wanted to believe Hermione's theory about the Malfoys legitimately wishing to make amends, but he also couldn't shake the possibility of Ron's pessimistic suggestion. At this point, either seemed likely.

"I say write her back and tell her you'll go," said Hermione. "Honestly, what will it hurt?"

"And does that mean you'll be going with me, then?"

Hermione looked to the floor for a long moment, and Harry believed he knew what she was thinking. The last time they'd visited Malfoy Manor, she had been attacked and brutally tortured by none other than Narcissa Malfoy's sister, Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Yes," said Hermione at last. Ron whipped toward her, gaping.

"What? You're not going back th—"

"I've thought about it," Hermione went on calmly, "and while it won't be the most pleasant of experiences, I'm sure, I know it isn't going to be like the last time we were there. Bellatrix is dead, after all."

Harry considered this. He didn't want to subject Hermione to discomfort in the least, but she seemed certain in her reasoning, and she was right. Of those who remained at Malfoy Manor, only one had ever attempted to harm her, Ron, and Harry. Evidently, Ron had followed a similar train of thought.

"And Lucius isn't," he said irritably.

"The letter says he's in on his wife's offer," said Hermione.

"And you believe that?" Ron demanded. "Are we talking about the same—?"

"Voldemort tortured their family, Ronald." Hermione shook her head. "Just like he tortured everyone else. If I were Lucius Malfoy, I would be feeling a little differently about things now than I did a year ago."

Ron sighed irritably. "You're not going to convince me, on the subject of Lucius Malfoy. But whatever. If you two are going, I'm going with you."

Harry reached for a blank piece of parchment and a quill, writing out a reply. He still wasn't certain this was the proper decision or that he felt safe in making it, but if all else failed, at least he wouldn't be going alone.

* * *

 _Mrs. Malfoy,_

 _Thank you for your invitation. My friends and I will see you and your family on Saturday._

 _H. Potter_

* * *

"This is a terrible idea," Ron stated as Harry stood and fastened his letter to the bird's leg. Harry opened the window, and the bird—Calypso, as Narcissa's letter had stated—departed with a _caw._

"Probably so," said Harry, closing the window and turning to face the others once more. "But I guess we'll find out."


	3. A Study in Placing Blame

Chapter Three

A Study in Placing Blame

 _This is going to end very, very badly._

Lucius straightened his tie for what must've been the twentieth time, trying not to frown at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He hated that he still didn't quite look like himself—the most noticeable change was, to him, the decline in the level of confidence and poise he'd once exuded effortlessly—though Narcissa insisted frequently that she still thought he looked perfect and that he needed to stop worrying. He let out a short, humorless laugh at that thought. Narcissa telling Lucius not to worry was, in his opinion, the equivalent of a particularly studious Ravenclaw telling a friend not to try so hard in class.

"Stop messing with it, love. Here."

Lucius sighed, turning to face his wife, who had been dressed and ready for several hours and had taken to pacing, which had done nothing to help his nerves. Narcissa reached up to adjust his tie, and Lucius took the opportunity to admire her. Her long hair hung in waves down her back, and her floor-length green dress complimented her curves and her slim waist. She finished with his tie and took a step back to appraise her work before nodding with a smile and moving closer again to kiss his cheek.

"You're all ready," she said.

"Maybe physically," he muttered.

Narcissa lifted her hand to run her fingers through her husband's hair, giving him a soft smile. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I'm glad you think so. I'm just… not sure of what to expect," Lucius admitted. "He said in his reply that his friends were going to be joining him, yes?"

Narcissa nodded. "He wasn't specific about what that meant, but if I had to guess—"

"Weasley and Granger."

"Probably so."

"Lovely."

"Come on, let's go and wait downstairs," said Narcissa, taking Lucius by the arm and leading him out of the bathroom, through the master bedroom, and out into the corridor. As they descended the steps, Lucius reflected on exactly how absurd this situation would've sounded to him a year previously. He never would've considered inviting this particular group into his home, had Narcissa not suggested it. Now that the war was over, he was too consumed with notions of how close he and his family had come to death to be as willing to put himself in the line of fire as he'd done before. This meant that he'd made no attempts to publicly support the superiority of Purebloods over other groups, and he hadn't spoken an ill word of the Weasleys, despite his longstanding antagonistic relationship with Arthur. Lucius doubted, though, that any of this would matter. He fully anticipated that the opinion of Arthur's son held of Lucius and his family had not changed, and he expected the same of Hermione Granger.

As Lucius and Narcissa entered the foyer, their son came into view, leaning against the back of a chair and staring into the fireplace, his face set in a frown. Like his parents, Draco had dressed up for the occasion, and his level of enthusiasm for the evening to come appeared at nearly the same level as his father's.

"I really don't think all this is necessary," said Draco, focused pointedly on the fire.

"Draco—" Narcissa began, but Draco cut her off.

"I don't need their _sympathy_ , Mother. I don't need them to rethink their opinions of me just because you asked them to."

"That's not what's happening," said Narcissa. Her voice was calm, but Lucius watched her as she spoke, and he recognized a hint of pain in her eyes. He knew she wasn't entirely comfortable with the plan, either, but she was attempting to make things easier on Draco upon his return to school, and so she was willing to endure whatever ridicule she anticipated the Gryffindor students were planning for his sake. Lucius had always admired his wife's willingness to do whatever she thought necessary for the benefit of her family, though he had seen her endanger herself for this purpose on more than one occasion, which had terrified him. He could do nothing about those instances now, but he could at least assist her in this argument.

"What your mother's trying to do is very wise," said Lucius, shifting to take Narcissa's hand instead of her arm and moving toward where Draco stood. "It's always better to form alliances than to make enemies, and with everyone in our world feeling so very grateful that the war has ended, there's no one better with whom to try to form an alliance than Potter, as difficult as that may prove to be." Lucius recalled a time several years earlier when he'd told Draco something similar. He'd told Draco to befriend Harry Potter early-on in the boys' schooling, as at that time, the Dark Lord had not yet returned and Lucius had been attempting to pretend to the world that he had never been affiliated with the Death Eaters. He'd believed a friendship with Potter would be advantageous for Draco, who had at that time only allied himself with the children of people whom Lucius had served alongside… as Death Eaters. It would've benefitted the Malfoy family greatly to be on good terms with the boy the Wizarding World collectively viewed as its savior, and perhaps then they would've been able to convince everyone that they'd been on the 'right side' of the war that had taken place so many years before.

Now, it was too late to convince anyone that they'd been on the 'right side' in even the war that had followed. Not until the end, anyway. They'd taken too long to switch sides, in the eyes of almost everyone, and many people still didn't believe they deserved the reprieve that had kept them from Azkaban. Lucius couldn't describe how grateful he was never to have to return to that horrid place, and that, if no other reason, was enough to convince him to be polite to Potter-and-company, when they arrived.

"You're right," said Draco flatly. He let out a heavy sigh and turned to meet his father's gaze, and Lucius's stomach twisted as he realized that his son looked much older than eighteen.

Lucius doubted he would ever stop blaming himself for that or for the physical, mental, and emotional torment he himself had suffered alongside his wife and son. He couldn't ask them to forgive him for bringing it up on them all, either, though Narcissa had already made it clear that she refused to blame him and Draco had never discussed the matter.

A knock at the front doors drew the room's collective focus, Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco each revealing a high level of tension as their heads whipped toward the sound. A beat of silence passed, and then Narcissa took a step forward.

"I'll…" She hesitated.

"We'll all go," said Lucius, squeezing her hand. Draco nodded and said nothing. The house-elf was occupied fixing the meal. Lucius was too ready for this evening to be over with to wait for the elf to answer the door, and he surmised Narcissa and Draco felt the same. He led the way toward the doors and, with a deep breath, pulled them open as he slipped on a smile.

On the threshold stood Potter, Weasley, and Granger, as well as a fourth person Lucius recognized instantly. The sight of Arthur Weasley's daughter wiped the smile from his lips as quickly as it had come.

"Welcome," said Narcissa, and as she spoke, she tightened her grip on her husband's hand. He wasn't certain whether she had noticed him falter or whether she needed the support, but regardless, he held onto her more tightly, as well. "Please, come in."

* * *

 **A/N: I swear the meal with everyone present will actually take place in chapter four.**


	4. A Dish Best Served Lukewarm

**A/N: I apologize for the ridiculously-long delay in updating this.**

* * *

Chapter Four

A Dish Best Served Lukewarm

 _On the list of things I would rather be doing than sitting at this table right now, I'm fairly certain 'lying at the bottom of the lake' figures prominently._

Draco shifted his gaze away from the spot he'd selected on the wall when he felt his mother watching him, as he didn't want to chance meeting her eyes while his thoughts were so pessimistic. Yes, he knew she meant well, and yes, both of Draco's parents had made valid points regarding this farce of an evening, but the Malfoy heir was still far from persuaded.

He stared down at his plate, which was largely unchanged from the state in which it had been brought to him by the elf, and took in the room around him in his periphery. Narcissa still seemed to be staring in his direction from his left, and with the flurry in which Lucius's hands moved as he cut his food, it was a wonder he hadn't sawed through the plate. Draco couldn't see Potter and his friends without shifting position; Potter had been seated in the most prominent of available spaces, at the end of the table opposite Lucius. Draco had seen one of the Weasleys sit on either side of Potter and Granger beside her boyfriend. So far, apart from a few mumbled comments on the food, no one had attempted to speak. Draco knew the looks his mother frequently sent in his direction were supposed to spur him into starting some form of conversation—if they weren't, the light kick she delivered to his foot certainly was—but he had absolutely no idea what to say to these people. He'd spent his entire Hogwarts career trading insults with the lot of them, and apart from Quidditch, he knew nothing of the interests of any of the guests.

"How has everyone's summer been?"

It took all of Draco's willpower to keep him from sighing as his mother attempted to initiate conversation. Her tone was smooth and composed, but he could see her hand trembling beside her cutlery. She wouldn't have shown an ounce of weakness to the visitors, but he knew her well enough to see the toll her sister's death had taken on her at the times this deepened anxiety surfaced.

"Rather uneventful, at least the last few weeks."

Draco recognized the voice that broke the silence as Granger's, and he glanced down the table to catch her shooting a glare at Potter, who looked down at his plate and stabbed a carrot with his fork. Granger sighed, evidently convinced that he was going to be of not help, and looked toward Narcissa. Draco shifted his gaze back to his own food to avoid meeting the girl's eyes.

"And yourselves?" Granger asked.

"The same." Narcissa paused for a moment, and Draco could've sworn he heard her mental pleas for assistance in the conversation, but he had no idea where to begin. Years of dealing with the people seated at the other end of the table without either side attempting decent communication had left a bad taste in his mouth that he doubted the steak before him would relieve. He waited, and eventually, his mother spoke again. "We haven't been out and about much, lately."

"We'll have to change that," said Lucius. Draco glanced to his left to watch him reach out for Narcissa's hand and give it a quick squeeze before grabbing his fork once again. "We can't exactly stay in here forever." These words were more mumbled than spoken to the table at large, and Draco wondered whether the guests could hear them.

"That's one reason we think it's wonderful that Draco's decided to return to school."

At his mother's words, Draco's cheeks burned. He supposed he'd hoped that if he pretended not to be present for long enough, everyone would stop attempting to force him to speak. Now that the group's focus had shifted to him—he could feel their collective focus pressing in, try as he might to ignore it—he knew he would have to say something, probably sooner rather than later.

"Why did you decide to go back?"

The only sound following the question from the Weasley girl was that of the silver scraping against plates, and Draco forced a deep breath into his lungs before looking toward her.

"A new start," he said shortly, his shoulders lifting and falling again in a stiff shrug.

"I don't blame you."

Draco's eyes flicked to Potter, who looked toward him steadily, clearly doing a much better job of keeping his dislike of the situation under control than Draco had managed.

"I feel like that's something we could all use," Potter continued, and Draco nodded slowly.

"We're very glad you agree," said Narcissa. "We want you all to know that no one here means you harm or bears any ill will toward you. We only want to put everything that's happened behind us and—"

"While that's all well and good, but it's hard to do when some of those things almost cost our lives."

Draco barely suppressed the urge to glare at the Weasley girl as she spoke. He busied himself cutting a bite of steak and taking longer than necessary to chew it.

"Yes, well… quite a few things have happened that, ah, we regret. _I_ regret," Lucius corrected himself, straightening a bit in his chair. "For the part that I played in harm coming to any of you—particularly you, Ginevra—I… apologize."

 _Well, this is the end,_ thought Draco bitterly. _I've seen it all, and surely the ceiling will start caving in at any moment._

"You were very young," Lucius went on, "and if something like the ordeal with the diary would've happened to Draco, I…" He shook his head and averted his gaze to the table, saying nothing more.

Draco's stomach twisted, and he considered his father's words. He'd known that Lucius had never intended for him to be dragged into the world of the war; Draco's involvement had been instigated by the Dark Lord himself, against the wishes of the entirety of Draco's family. What he'd never contemplated was that his father hadn't wanted the other underage wizards and witches to be involved, either. Draco had seen firsthand how little choice was given to those under the Dark Lord's influence, but Potter and the others had not. They'd probably held Lucius accountable for his actions toward them without any thought to the truth: he'd had no other option. Now that he could've elected to wash his hands of everything that had happened, Lucius had chosen instead to continue dealing with the people who held him in contempt for the benefit of his son.

Draco sighed, glancing toward the four at the other end of the table, all of whom appeared to have been rendered speechless. The elder Weasley had frozen with a forkful of food midway to his mouth, his eyes wide.

"I would greatly appreciate if we could start over," said Draco, struggling to keep his voice even. "I don't expect you to just forgive me or anything, but if you could agree to let things stay, you know, in the past, then when we get back to school, it would be quite a bit easier for all of us." Once he'd started to speak, the words spilled from his mouth quickly. The sooner he'd extended the olive branch, the sooner this could all come to an end. He cast a sidelong glance at his mother to find her smiling. Her hand and his father's had disappeared from the table. Lucius's expression was unreadable.

"All right."

Draco looked to Potter, who nodded slowly. Weasley let out a grunt and shot a pointed look at Granger, and Draco assumed she'd stricken him beneath the table.

"Fine," Weasley grunted. His sister nodded shortly and said nothing.

"I think it's a lovely idea," said Granger, smiling thinly. Draco believed she was lying through her teeth, but he had to admit—if only to himself—that he appreciated the effort. Even if this agreement fell through and the hatred resumed full-force upon everyone's return to Hogwarts, he wanted his parents to believe that they had instigated the ceasefire they'd sought. They deserved that peace of mind.

"I'm pleased to hear it," said Narcissa, nodding to the group with a smile. "And do enjoy your food." Her expression as she resumed eating suggested that she was glad to be serving company again, no matter what that entailed.

Draco, on the other hand, only hoped that if he kept his mouth full, he wouldn't have to say anything else.


	5. The Voice of Reason

Chapter Five

The Voice of Reason

"That really didn't go as badly as you all seem to think." Hermione shook her head, watching Harry, Ron, and Ginny in turn as the four of them sat on the attic floor at the Burrow.

When she'd realized the letter Harry had received was from the Malfoys, Hermione had, she hated to admit, nearly reacted in the same way as the others and rejected whatever the letter had contained on principle. Her mind had been assaulted by flashes of lying on the cold, marble floor, Bellatrix Lestrange hovering above her and sickening, agonizing pain pulsing through her arm with each beat of her heart that pushed a bit more blood to the surface of her skin along the lines of the word still etched there: _Mudblood._ It had taken her several moments to shake away these shadows, but she'd managed to recall that only Bellatrix had been responsible for this torment—Bellatrix and, of course, her mad master. Bellatrix's sister, however, had not been at fault. Even while trapped within their home, Hermione had recognized within Narcissa someone much like herself, someone who had been pulled into that disaster of a war due to her desire to do whatever was necessary to protect the people she cared for and ensure their safety. At the first opportunity to escape in some form, either through Harry's victory or the death the lie would've brought, Narcissa had saved Harry's life, and Hermione did not plan to allow him or the others to forget it.

She also couldn't find it within herself to hold Draco completely accountable for his actions. She recalled every taunt and torment he'd thrown at her even before entering the service of Voldemort, but she also recalled the way he'd attempted to avoid incriminating Harry when their group had been captured. She'd seen his regret, and while she had not forgiven him for everything he'd done, she knew he deserved a second chance as much as anyone else did.

 _In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery and death._ Hermione found herself needing to repeat Anne Frank's words more times each day as the world around her showed few signs of progress, but she refused to give up hope that this progress would occur. After the letter and the dinner that had followed, she believed she was finally beginning to see it.

"It's not that I think it went _badly,_ exactly," said Ron now, frowning as he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm just suspicious. I still don't trust them."

"And what do you really think they're planning?" Hermione asked sharply.

"I don't know!"

"You're being ridiculous, Ronald." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Anyone could tell they were legitimately making an effort."

"I still can't believe he apologized," muttered Ginny. Hermione turned to find her sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring at a spot on the wall in front of her with her brows drawn.

"It's something I never thought I'd hear," agreed Harry, reaching out to rest a hand on her arm.

"I still wouldn't believe it."

Hermione's head snapped toward Ron, who froze under her glare.

"A word. Outside."

She pushed herself to her feet and strode toward the door, moving out onto the landing to wait for him. She stared at the photographs hung in tight clusters along the wall, attempting to distract herself from her agitation, if only briefly. Several seconds passed, and then she heard footsteps following her onto the landing accompanied by the sound of Ron's breath. She turned to face him, pushing the door closed to keep Harry and Ginny from overhearing before she spoke.

"Why are you so determined to keep this from working?"

"Me? Keep it from working?" Ron scowled. "I don't have anything up my sleeve. I'm not waiting for the right moment to double-cross people."

"And you have absolutely no evidence that they are, either." Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, lifting a hand to run her fingers through her hair. "I thought you of all people would understand second chances."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron folded his arms, frowning deeply.

"That we've all made mistakes! All of us! Even you. You left us, but you came back." Hermione's voice cracked on the last syllable, and she bit the inside of her cheek, fighting to keep her emotions in check. She'd spent long enough dealing with the war and the damage it had left, and she couldn't allow herself to break down again, not now. Someone had to be responsible, to keep everyone else together.

 _God, I'm tired of being the voice of reason._

"Everyone grows," she said after a moment. "Why can't you accept that?"

"Why do you want so badly to believe they've changed?" Ron's voice had softened, now, as had his expression. She saw in it the edge of concern, and she wasn't prepared to accept that, at the moment.

"Because I'm tired, Ron. I'm tired of looking for people to fight. Haven't we fought long enough? If this is the solution, if accepting an olive branch and trying to get along with Draco when we go back is the way to find peace, then I can handle that. And I really, really wish you could, as well."

Ron closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "I wish it was that easy, you know. I do. All I've ever heard is what they've done. My parents told me quite a bit about the first time things went all to hell, and when we met Malfoy first year and the first words out of his mouth were that I wasn't good enough because of my family, it just fit with everything I knew, and I made up my mind."

"But don't you see?" Hermione took a step closer, reaching out to lay a hand tentatively on his shoulder. "If you do to him exactly what he did to you, you're both just going to suffer. Maybe… maybe everyone's handled it poorly. I know there's nothing wrong with your family, and maybe—Ron, look at me, please, I'm just saying _maybe_ —his family isn't everything you've heard, either. I'm not asking you to trust them or forget all that's happened. I'm just asking that we try not to hold on to the kind of thinking that got us all into this mess to start with, because… well, if we think like everyone's parents, we're never going to get anywhere. Can you please give this a chance? For me?"

A long moment passed in which the two watched one another in silence, and then Ron stepped closer, drawing Hermione into his embrace.

"All right," he said quietly.

"I just want things to go back to normal," she breathed, beginning to allow herself to relax.

"I know. I'm not sure what 'normal' is, anymore, but maybe we can at least find 'better.'" _  
_


	6. The Shadow of History

Chapter Six

The Shadow of History

The crack of the Beater's bat impacting the radish was immensely satisfying to Ginny. She'd enchanted a pile of the vegetables to levitate in succession, and she hovered a few feet from the ground at the edge of her mother's garden, clutching the bat that had belonged to her late brother.

She watched another radish lift from the pile and drew her arm back. Why was it that Fred had been one of the unfortunate number who'd never had the chance to return home from Hogwarts that May?

Ginny swung her arm hard and batted the radish forward, and she watched it sail over the rows of lettuce and tomatoes.

Why was Fred unable to come home to his family while so many of the people who had fought on the side that had murdered him had escaped with their lives?

Ginny watched another radish fly into the air and smacked it over the fence.

Why would she never see her brother smile again while some of the Death Eaters wouldn't even face prison?

 _Crack._

Why was Lucius Malfoy free?

 _Crack._

Ginny watched as the last radish shattered on contact with her brother's bat, and she let out a heavy sigh, guiding her broom to the ground. She dismounted and carried the broom over to prop it against the wall of the run-down old shed that was more overgrown with ivy each time she saw it. She covered her face with her hands and leaned back against the wall, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess her thoughts had become.

He'd apologized. What was worse: he'd seemed sincere. She'd spent the last six years harboring a severe degree of hatred and resentment that she could no longer hold onto in good conscience, and she had no idea what to do with herself, now. Was she supposed to forgive and forget that easily? To move on, like everyone else seemed so determined to do?

 _None of them could possibly understand,_ she thought. _They don't know what it's like to be used by Voldemort. Harry's the only one who could really get it, and he's been through so much that I can't unload all of my problems on him._ After all, Harry had broken up with her once to spare her the pain that came with his part in the war. What would he do if he found out she was still struggling with what she'd experienced as Tom Riddle's pawn in her first year at school? Harry would certainly blame himself somehow for not finding the truth sooner and saving her before she'd been so close to death. He'd taken that route the handful of times she'd mentioned it before, and so she generally avoided the subject, now.

 _I have to do something,_ she thought. _I can't just wait around for this pain to go away. I have to do something._

She pushed off of the shed and started toward the house.

* * *

 _It's not too late to turn back. I could go home and forget I ever had this bloody awful idea._

Ginny stood on the steps of Malfoy Manor, her fist raised to knock on the doors. She hadn't told anyone where she was going when she'd left the Burrow, and if she went back now, perhaps no one would suspect that she'd decided to do something so risky.

 _But then I'll never have peace._

She knocked and waited, and after a few moments, one of the doors opened to reveal an elf who watched her with wide eyes.

"Yes?" the elf squeaked.

"I… could I speak to your master? Please?"

"Prim, who's at the door?"

The elf glanced over her shoulder toward the voice. "Prim does not know her name, Mistress." Prim pulled the door open a bit more, and Ginny spotted Narcissa standing near the back of the foyer.

"Miss Weasley?" Narcissa blinked, frowning slightly. "What brings you here? Come in."

Ginny stepped into the foyer. "I was wondering if I might have a word with your husband."

Narcissa's shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. "This way, please. Prim will take your cloak."

Ginny glanced down at the elf, who had shut the door and now waited at her side, arms outstretched. Ginny shrugged out of her traveling cloak and passed it to Prim with a mumbled thanks, and then she followed Narcissa down the corridor and into the drawing room. Lucius sat in an armchair, a cup of tea in his hand. The tea tray sat on the table between his chair and the chaise, and the full cup resting beside it suggested that Narcissa had been seated there.

"If it's a bad time," Ginny began, "I can—"

"It's all right," said Narcissa with a shake of her head. "I'm glad you've decided to stop by. It's progress," she muttered. She turned to her husband. "She wants to speak with you, my love."

Lucius watched his wife for a long moment and then looked to Ginny, his expression somewhat apprehensive. Ginny wondered if he was expecting her to make another outburst like the one she hadn't been able to hold back during the meal Narcissa had put together.

"Please, have a seat," said Lucius.

Ginny made her way over to the chaise and sat down at its edge.

"If you'd be more comfortable if I stay," Narcissa said so quietly Ginny barely heard her, leaning close to Lucius's ear, "I'd be happy to."

Lucius shook his head and leaned up to kiss her cheek. "I'll be all right," he said.

Narcissa looked to Ginny. "Help yourself to the tea." She turned and made her way from the room.

Ginny reached for an empty teacup and filled it, primarily to give herself something to focus on while she forced her thoughts into relative order. Now that she was here, she realized she had no idea what to say. _Were you really trying to kill me? Did you know Riddle would make me attack people? How angry was he with you when that plan didn't work?_

"You apologized," she blurted before she could stop herself. Even to her, the words sounded like an accusation.

Lucius paused, his teacup half-raised. "Yes, I did. Is that a problem?"

"If you're sorry about it, why did you do it? Why me? That book could've ruined anyone's life. Why'd you give it to me?"

Lucius sighed. He set his cup on the table and crossed his left leg over his right. "It's because of who your father is, Ginevra, but you've got it wrong. I didn't pick you."

"You put the damned thing—"

"Under my cloak before I left home that morning," Lucius cut in with a shake of his head. "Your father had decided to tell his friends in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—the same ones who made my life hell for a year in Azkaban, I might add—that they should have a look through my belongings at their leisure. He told them I was plotting something involving some of the ancient cursed objects in my possession. I was minding my own business and keeping my head down. I'd managed to avoid prison after the first time the Dark Lord fell, and I wasn't about to do anything to draw negative attention to my family. Yes, there were cursed objects here—this house is over a thousand years old, so of course there are things lying about that predate our laws. But I digress."

He reached for his tea and took a long drink. Ginny looked down at the cup between her hands and then back to the man seated across from her, who returned his own drink to the table.

"The Dark Lord gave me that diary about twenty years ago. He informed me that it was vastly more valuable than my life and that if anything happened to it, he would prove that to me. Even though I thought he was dead, I wasn't about to let the Ministry take the blasted thing. The gods only knew what it could do. When we took Draco to get his school things, I made a stop to persuade Borgin to buy some of the items that could've gotten me into trouble. I'd brought the diary to deposit it in my vault at Gringotts—I knew your father would have my home raided any day, and I couldn't afford to have that book found. I should've taken it to my vault first. That was my mistake, and it cost us all dearly. When your father knocked me into a bookshelf, I lost track of the diary, and I assume that's when you picked it up."

A flash of the bookshop appeared in Ginny's mind's eye, and she recalled the fight between Lucius and her father that had startled her eleven-year-old self so greatly that she hadn't known what to do. She remembered the books raining down on everyone's heads and knocking cauldron from her grasp and how hard it had been to remember which books had belonged where when the dust had settled. Ginny's mouth went dry. She raised her teacup to her lips at last and downed the liquid within all at once.

"I lost my position on the Board of Governors after that ordeal," said Lucius. "I know you lost quite a lot, and I wish I had a more satisfying answer for you, but it comes down to this: you were in the right place at the right time for the book to reach you when your father attacked me. It was not by my intention."

Ginny was silent as she considered everything she'd just heard. She'd spent six years hating the man seated before her, and he wanted her to believe his transfer of the diary to her had been a regrettable accident?

"Can you made your peace with that?" asked Lucius.

"I need time to think," said Ginny. "I've heard everything you've said, I just—I need to process it."

"That's reasonable." He nodded.

"You have to understand—all my life, I've been told to steer clear of you and that you were…" _Cruel, sadistic, incredibly dangerous, bigoted, out to get my family._ "…you really don't want to know."

Lucius let out a flat laugh. "I'd imagine not."

"Just know that I'm trying to believe you. I really am." Ginny knew it would be much easier to cope with this new movement for peace and returning to school with Draco if she could believe his father hadn't meant to endanger her life so many years earlier.

"I appreciate it." Lucius inclined his head to her.

"I should get home. I didn't tell anyone where I was going." Ginny stood, resting her teacup on the table before looking to Lucius once again. "Thank you for speaking with me."

"I'm glad for the chance to clear the air."

Ginny made her way back into the corridor, where the Malfoys' elf greeted her with a deep bow.

"Prim will go and get Miss Weasley's cloak," said the elf before hurrying off down the hallway.

"Thank you," said Ginny. She took the opportunity to wander a few doorways down the corridor and observe the moving portraits adorning the walls. The first was unmistakably a young Draco seated between his parents and having difficulty sitting still. To this portrait's right was one of four people, and Ginny recognized only one of them. He was considerably younger than Ginny had ever seen him—around Hogwarts age, if she had to guess—but the features clearly belonged to Lucius. The pair standing behind him had to be his parents; he resembled them too strongly for them not to be, with the woman's eyes and the man's facial structure. Ginny wondered whether the girl seated beside Lucius was his sister. Did he have a sister? Ginny frowned as she realized how little she knew about the Malfoy family apart from what her parents and brothers had told her.

"Your cloak, Miss Weasley."

Ginny looked down to find Prim standing beside her and holding out her cloak. She took it with a word of thanks and slipped it on, and then the elf led her back past the drawing room toward the foyer.

"—sure you're all right? I know you've tried to forget about all that."

The doors to the drawing room were shut, now, but Ginny could still hear Narcissa's voice through them. She must've approached from the other side while Ginny had been distracted.

"I'm fine, my rose. It needed to be said."

Ginny's eyes widened. _Lucius Malfoy using a pet name for his wife? Now I've officially heard it all._ Her stomach twisted. The longer she spent here without her family, the harder it became to view these people as cold, remote, and cruel, as she'd been taught. She shook her head as she followed the elf to the front doors. _You don't have to hate them,_ she told herself, _but don't get carried away._


	7. A Fellowship

Chapter Seven

A Fellowship

The interior of The Leaky Cauldron was dingy and much more poorly maintained than The Three Broomsticks, but Draco didn't mind; at the moment, he wasn't ready to make a trip to Hogsmeade. It was too close to the school he was trying so hard to avoid until it was time. He wanted to complete his education and do what he could to set things right with the Wizarding World at large, but the closer he drew to the day in September when he would have to return to school, the more anxious he became.

He'd asked a group of his friends to meet him at the pub to determine which of them intended to join him for another year of schooling. As he surveyed the group, he tried to anticipate what each of them would say, but he realized he knew each of them less now than he had a year previously. When he'd left Hogwarts after the death of Albus Dumbledore, he'd left much more than the school behind him.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Blaise Zabini from Draco's left. He was frowning slightly, his hands folded on the table. Draco knew Blaise was studying him, and he wondered whether his friend was looking for signs that he'd gone mad.

"Yes, I am," Draco said with a sigh. "I'm not going to force you to go with me. Any of you."

"You're not doing this alone," said Salacia Macnair, squeezing Draco's hand beneath the table from where she sat on his right. "Merlin knows what would happen."

"That's comforting, Laci. Thanks."

Salacia closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, and Draco watched her closely. She had the same long red hair he'd known since his childhood and the same face that so strongly resembled her mother's—Lenore was Draco's mother's best friend, and Walden was like a brother to Draco's father, so the boy had been acquainted with their family for as long as he could recall—but the mirth that had almost always been present somewhere in Salacia's expression before the war was nowhere to be found, now.

"I'm sorry," Draco muttered. "This whole mess has me on edge."

Salacia nodded and squeezed his hand again, and she opened her eyes to meet his.

"Everything is going to be fine," she said. "I just mean I know how dreadful Potter and his group can be, and you're going to need people on your side."

"Does your mother actually think Potter's going to come around?" asked Blaise.

"Yes," said Draco flatly. He didn't want to admit that the meal with Potter hadn't gone as poorly as he'd anticipated. It didn't necessarily mean that things had improved, after all. Perhaps everyone had been acting for the sake of saving face. Either way, he couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to place his trust in anyone who hadn't proven deserving of it.

"Well, I have to go back anyway."

Draco glanced down the table to Astoria Greengrass, who was staring down into her mug.

"It was my sixth year that was… let's say 'disrupted,' not my seventh," she continued. "But I'd go back even if that wasn't the case. I'd be glad to support you, Draco." Astoria looked up at him with a smile.

"Thank you." Draco nodded.

"I think this sounds like an adventure," said Astoria's sister Daphne from beside her. "I'd like to see anyone try to bother us, when we get back."

"They wouldn't dare," said Theodore Nott from Daphne's other side.

"Are you all mad?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he shifted his attention to Pansy Parkinson, who sat between Gregory Goyle and Salacia and was scowling.

"Don't you remember how they treated us?" Pansy demanded. "They made us all out to be bloody awful. I'm not going to put myself through their judgment again."

"Pansy…" Daphne sighed. "You're right. But we shouldn't lose our chance at finishing our education because of those fools. What would they hate more than seeing us take the life we deserve for ourselves?"

"No. I'm sorry, but I can't do it." Pansy shook her head and pushed back her chair. She got to her feet and glanced from one face to the next, and Draco knew she was searching out support.

He couldn't find it within himself to blame her for the way she felt; he wasn't particularly looking forward to the judgments of his peers, no matter how he told himself he didn't care what they thought. He knew how it must've looked when he'd left the school the night of Dumbledore's death, and he often wondered what would've happened if he'd managed to stay. Would someone else—McGonagall, perhaps—have followed through with Dumbledore's offer to protect Draco's family, if he'd defected? Or would the Dark Lord have killed them before Draco had been able to return home on his own?

 _It doesn't matter, now,_ he told himself, gritting his teeth. _You made your choice. And as terrible as the last two years have been, at least you're all still alive._

"I'm with you," Gregory Goyle told Pansy as he stood. Draco's gaze fell on the empty chair beside where Goyle had been sitting.

 _Almost all of you._

His fists clenched involuntary as his thoughts returned to the friend who should've been sitting with them, probably eating a large plate of whatever food was the pub's daily special. Draco still hadn't completely processed Vincent Crabbe's death, and the fact that Goyle hadn't bothered to order anything since their arrival at The Leaky Cauldron told Draco that he hadn't processed the loss, either.

"I don't blame you, Greg," said Draco with a sigh.

"Draco. _Draco._ "

He looked to Salacia, whose eyes were wide. Frowning, he followed her gaze downward, and he recalled that he'd been squeezing her hand entirely too tightly in his distraction. He leaned close and kissed her cheek, muttering an apology. Draco's apologies were reserved for those he respected enough to give them, and though that number was small, he found that he'd been uttering the words a lot more often, lately. He often wondered how different things for everyone around him could've been if he'd acted differently in the war, and though he was immensely relieved that—apart from his aunt and Crabbe—everyone close to him had made it through the whole ordeal in one piece, he couldn't escape the thought that he was somehow to blame for the suffering they'd faced.

"Take care of yourselves," he told Pansy and Goyle. He watched them go and tried hard not to be bothered by the silence that fell over the table afterward.

Eventually, Salacia gave his hand a squeeze.

"Can I borrow you for a moment?" she asked.

Draco nodded, and he followed her to an empty booth in the corner, where he sat down beside her.

"Where is your mind, right now?" Salacia asked, resting her hand atop Draco's on the table.

"I'm not going to force you to go through this with me. They're right—we're walking into a disaster by going back, and this is the punishment I've chosen for myself. I didn't mean to punish you, as well. Or any of them."

Salacia shook her head. "You aren't. We're going with you because it's what we want. Do you honestly think any of us would subject ourselves to Harry Potter if we didn't have a damn good reason? We're with you, Draco."

She leaned forward and embraced him, and he rested his chin on her shoulder, working to convince himself that he was making the right decision.


End file.
